I never explained it to Louisa. But sometimes, I think she knew.
As I punch in the numbers, I grin. It's funny that years later, I still know my best friend's parent's house number.
"This is Stella, can I help you?"
I falter. For some reason, it didn't occur to me that Louisa wouldn't be the one to answer her parent's phone. "Hi, Ms. Stella. It's Scout."
"Oh, gracious, Scout! How are you, darling? Are you back in town? Atticus didn't bother to tell us."
"I am—for a while, anyway. Atti's been a little busy, with his work, you know."
For a few minutes, I'm engulfed in mindless chatter about Branton and the inner workings of a small Southern town. I promise to come by for sweet tea and a hug, and I realize that it's a little awkward, but I've missed it—the sense of belonging, the warmth and affection that comes with no strings.
Stella isn't nice because she knows I have drugs, or the money to buy drugs, or because she wants to sleep with me. She's just a sweet lady, excited to hear from me.
"Have you talked to Louisa?" she finally asks, and I seize on it.
"No, ma'am. I was actually hoping to get in touch with her."
"Sure. She's at class right now, but if you wanted to swing by the campus, she'll be at the Doctor's office in about thirty minutes."
I hesitate, and then: "Sure. That sounds great. I'll do that."
It doesn't sound great. It sounds like a nightmare. But I can't bear to disappoint Stella, and I want to see Louisa. I tighten my ponytail and fix my lipstick—Dane smudged it, and I'm really going to not think about that right now because just no.
Taking a deep breath, I head toward UB.
Being on campus is terrifying. There are clusters of students everywhere, and I stride through the Green without meeting their eyes, trying to be invisible. It doesn't work—I can feel them whispering, the kids I graduated from high school with, juniors now, and other students, who have never seen me before.
In a crowd of people wearing jeans and sweatshirts, my sweater dress and tights stand out. Screw that, though—I look amazing. If I didn't, Dane would never have kissed me.
I head to the History hall, almost running down the stairs.
I hate stairwells.
Louisa is talking to a guy, her hands dancing through the air as she makes some point that he's grinning about, as she walks toward her father's office.
"Hey, Lou!" I call.
She glances up, her eyes wide. There's a long second, uncomfortable and tense, where I'm not sure what she'll do. Then she shrieks, breaks away from the guy, and throws herself at me.
I laugh as she wraps me in a ridiculously tight hug. For a second, it's like the years haven't happened—it's only me and my best friend, no drugs, no secrets, nothing
It's amazing.
Then she pulls away, a self-conscious smile turning her lips, and she stares at me. "What are you doing here?"
"I called your mom—she said it'd be a good place to find you."
"But when did you get back to Branton?"
"A few days ago? I'm staying with Dane for a few weeks until I get my own place."
There's a moment of silent surprise, and then: "You and Dane?"
"No!" I say, quickly and adamantly. "You know better—he's just a friend."
"That was six years ago, Scout. Things can change."
The guy she's with make a soft noise, and she turns to him. "This is my boyfriend, Luke Harrison."
"Nice to meet you," I say, extending a hand. He shakes it with a grin. "I'm the long lost friend."
"We'll have to go get coffee sometime," Luke says with a smile. He's got a nice smile, and his eyes don't wander, which is a huge point in his favor. "Babe, I gotta get to class."
Lou kisses him, quick and hard, and he grins once more in my direction before heading down the hall toward class.
"Come on in, Scout. Tell me what's been happening in your world."
I follow her into Dr. Randall's office. She tosses her bag onto the weathered sofa that's been there as long as I've known the Doctor. He's missing, and she goes to the mini fridge and fishes a bottle of water out. She offers me one, and I nod, catching it when she lightly throws it in my direction.
"So. You’re back. For good?"
I shrug. "Don't know yet. I guess we'll see."
"You look amazing," she says quietly, and I flush.
"I've been in rehab since July," I say. Her expression stays even, and I shrug again. "When I got out, Dane took me in. Until we figure out what I want."
"And you thought you should look me up," She says, leaning against her father's desk.
I stare at her, at the patient waiting in her gaze, the quiet acceptance. She looks like she did three years ago, the last time I saw her. Her black hair is shorter, sleek around her face, the clothes are different and the boy is new—but my Lou is still under those superficial changes.
"You said, once, that I was gonna wake up one day and need to face what drove me to drugs. That when I did, you would be waiting to help me."
Her eyes are wide when I look up at her.
"I didn't think you remembered that," She says softly.
I laugh, a little hysterical. "It was one of the few nice things anyone but Atti or Dane said to me in the past six years. Most people were just asking where they could score or if I wanted to give them a BJ."
Her expression twists, and I see pity in her eyes for a second. I shake my head. "Don't, Lou. It was my life—I chose it. It's not awesome, and it's not pretty, but don't pity me."
She takes a deep breath, and then: "So are you ready to face it?"
I nod, quickly, before I can change my mind. She looks away, but not before I see tears shining in her eyes.
Lou walks around the desk and scribbles a name and number on a sticky note then flips it over and scribbles her own. "This is a counselor a friend saw last year. She's really good—not too pushy, but she won't let you get away with evasions either. I'd suggest her."
I nod, reaching for the slip of paper.
"You should come by," I say before I can think. "Dane's place. It gets kinda boring, and I'd love to catch up."
Her eyes widen. I'm pretty sure she's remembering the last time she came by my place. I had been high as kite, a new guy pawing at me like I was a crackerjack box and he was trying to find the prize. I'd stopped kissing long enough to tell her to piss off.
Later, I'd remembered, but by the time I had, it was too late. I was too embarrassed to call and apologize.
Lou grins at me, and, even though there are years between us, I feel the strength of our friendship, and I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, I won't have fucked this up beyond all repair.
Chapter 6
Dane
I should probably have quit earlier. I botched up two briefs, and my paralegals had to scramble to fix the editorial shit before filing with the court. The stupid part is, it's easy. It's shit I've been doing for years, and I screwed it up because I couldn't quit thinking about kissing her.
This. This right here is why Scout is such a bad idea. Because I know if I let her in—even if I were to take her to bed the way I do every other girl in my life, including Mel—it could never be a casual hookup. She'd slip in, and I wouldn't be able to get her out, because that's what she does—that's what she's always been able to do to me.
Sometimes it drives me bat-shit crazy. Like right now, when I have blue balls and want nothing more than to go home and throw her down on my bed.
And from her response this afternoon, I know she'd be on board.
But she's Scout. Gorgeous, unpredictable, and too damn important to use for a one-night stand.
At five, I lock the office up—Glenda and the rest of the staff left almost an hour ago—and head to my Viper. A text lights up my phone.
Scout: I need a car. I'm tired of walking all over creation.
I grin. Dial her number and wait for her grumpy voice to slide over the line and wrap arou
nd me like a sexy cocoon. "Seriously, D. I'm exhausted and it's only been two days. And what about when I start working?"
"Do not even think I'm letting you behind the wheel of my car, Scout."
She snorts. "Dear god, no. I wouldn't dream of being allowed to drive the goddess."
I laugh out loud at that, and she giggles. "So where are you?" I ask.
"Leaving campus."
My stomach drops, and I clutch the wheel. "The hell are you doing there?"
"Relax, papa bear. I came to see Lou. She's working for her dad."
She's there voluntarily, to talk to a friend? Not to score? And, most importantly, voluntarily? Scout never goes to UB by herself, and sure as shit doesn't do it of her own free will.
"She had a counselor for me," she adds.
I pull out of my parking lot and say, "You’re gonna go through with it? Talking to someone?"
"Don't you think I've been trying it my way long enough?"
I nod, and she changes the subject. "I invited Lou over sometime. Do you mind?"
"Of course not. It's your home, too. You know that," I say. She's quiet, but I can almost hear the smile that's turning her lips. "We'll go in a couple days to find you a car, okay? I'll go in late."
And I do hear the smile when she says, "Go see your girl, Dane. Bring me dinner."
She hangs up, and I'm actually thankful—she doesn't hear me murmur, "Mel isn't my girl, Scout."
I shake my head and drop the phone. Try to focus on the fact that I'm going to meet my girlfriend, and not on how much I want to head home and curl up with my best friend's sister and a pizza.
Mary's Diner is quiet—it's still early enough that most of the college crowd hasn't shown up, and the older couples have already come and gone.
Melanie is sitting in a corner booth, her pretty blonde hair cascading around her shoulders. Her entire body straightens when she sees me, a smile brightening her lovely face.
Everything about Mel is lovely—sweet and polished and refined. Sometimes, the polished girl is a huge turn on—especially when I can get her to drop the act and beg me to fuck her.
For a polished country club princess, Mel can talk like a back ally whore when she’s turned on.
I push that thought from my mind and lean down to kiss her cheek. "Hello, gorgeous."
She smiles at me and slides a menu across the table. "I ordered you a sweet tea. Did you know what you want?"
I nod. Of course I know what I want. It's Mary's, after all. There's nothing new on the menu.
Kimmie, Mary's oldest granddaughter, comes by for our order, and then Mel turns her full attention on me.
Growing up, I always thought it's what I wanted. A girl like Mel—classy, sweet, accommodating. A girl who knew what she wanted and wasn't terribly shy about going for it, while still acting like a lady.
It's what Mom was, what she raised Jeanette to be. Ladies.
The problem was, that got boring. After about an hour, I was usually ready to either sleep with her and toss her out, or just toss her out. She's the only woman who's been able to stay in my life—she puts up with my shit, which is a huge point in her favor.
But she's boring. More often than not, I dread having to spend time with her outside of the bed.
The fact that she's an incredible lay is a point in her favor.
"Tell me about your houseguest! Did you bring him?"
I shake my head, toy with my fork. "No. I told you, she's not really up for seeing people."
Mel stiffens. "It's a girl?"
This is the problem. Mel is jealous. It doesn't make sense—not when she knows I mess around with girls in the club, but if a girl makes it back to my bed twice, all that cool calm vanishes and is replaced by a crazy bitch.
And women who are in my life, but not my bed? She hates them on principal.
"Don't do this," I say, putting the fork down and letting a note of anger slip into my tone. "You know what to expect from me. I'm not lying about anything to you. If you can't handle my terms, you’re welcome to head out the door."
She flushes, but I watch her choke off her anger. It takes a remarkable amount of effort.
"Are you going to at least tell me who it is?"
I sit back as Kimmie returns with our dinners. She flashes me an extra smile, which I ignore. She's a good kid, but a little young for me to fool around with—I have some standards. "Scout. She'll be staying with me for the next couple weeks while Atti's out of town."
Mel slowly lowers her fork, her eyes wide and hurt.
That's surprising. Mel never gets hurt. We're too honest for that shit.
"Scout. Scout Grimes is sharing your bed, and you think that's okay?"
"Jesus, Mel. She's my best friend's sister, and I'm letting her crash in the guest bedroom for a few weeks. Don't read into it."
She snorts, but finishes scraping ranch dressing onto her grilled chicken salad. "Dane, my darling, with you, there's always more to it."
"Did you really want to meet to talk about my houseguest?" I demand. I catch her knee under the table and let my fingers feather over her bare skin. A flush—a pretty one—rises in her cheeks, spurred now by arousal rather than anger.
And for a little while, we both can ignore the shadow Scout casts.
Scout
The door bangs, and I jerk upright on the couch as Dane enters the living room. A scream dies in my throat, the memories in my dreams vanishing as soon as I see him.
I shouldn't have gone to the campus. I knew it was a bad idea.
Dane's easy smile falters when he sees me, and he puts the white Styrofoam box down, crouching in front of me. "What's wrong, Scout?"
Tears burn in my eyes, and I open my mouth.
Dreams are the worst—sometimes I wish I could never sleep, never dream. It's one of the reasons I started using. If I drugged myself enough, I wouldn't dream.
"Bad dream," I murmur, my mouth dry. I want a drink—more than I have in months, I want one now.
"Was being on campus a trigger?" he asks, softly.
I stare at him, and I can see my dreams—nightmares. "I was in a stairwell. I despise stairwells." I shudder, and see his face. The anger and revulsion.
Dane is very still, and I blink, look away. "Sorry," I mutter. He swears softly.
His fingers catch the hair hiding my face, push it back gently. Cup my face and turn me to him. "Don't apologize. Whatever else you have to apologize for, telling me what happened that night is never going to be one of them."
"You don't want to hear the dirty details, Dane," I say, and I mean it. He doesn't ever need to think less of me than he already does.
He sits back on his heels, a strange expression on his face. I can't name it. "Scout, I don't want to hear them. I'm afraid I'll murder someone if I hear what happened—if I find out who it was. But if talking about it is something that will help you heal? I'm here. I'm always going to be here. No judgments. This—" He indicates the space between us. "—is a safe place for you."
Tears burn in my eyes, and I nod, biting my lip. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I'm achingly aware of his fingers still on my face, in my hair. His thumb brushes the corner of my lips, and I feel it like a bolt of electricity going through my entire body.
My dreams have gone—Dane's presence and the mere thought of kissing him again have chased them away. My lips part a little, and I lick them quickly.
And he jerks away, almost as if burned. His ears go a little red, and I'm not sure what's more amusing—the fact that I thought he wanted me, or the fact that I can make Dane Guillot blush.
"I brought you dinner," he says, looking away. "Burger with fries and a salad with grilled steak. I didn't know what you'd want."
I peer into the box and grin at him. It was sweet of him to remember, and sweeter that he brought me options.
Dane being sweet is rare.
I dump some Italian dressing on the salad and take a bite, then reach for a fry that's still warm, smearing mayo onto m
y burger with one end.
"How is Mel?"
He shrugs. "Pissed that you’re here. Which is to be expected."
I don't know why that pleases me so much, but it does. I take bite of my burger to hide my smile.
"What do you do when you’re home alone?" I ask, after I've finished dinner and Dane is sitting bare foot next to me, frowning at his phone.
"I go out and find someone so I'm not home alone," he answers, barely looking up.
"Well, we could always try what you do to entertain them," I mutter sarcastically.
His gaze snaps up to mine, heavy with hunger, and I shiver. God, he is so hot and I...I want him. Super simple, when you think about it.
"Somehow I don't think getting you naked is a good idea," he murmurs. I shrug.
"Fine." I hop up and go down the hall to the closet where old coats, blankets, and a vacuum that rarely gets used are stored.
"What are you doing?" he calls, his voice warm.
I drag out the box I'm looking for, its contents rattling around. Grin at Dane, who's eyeing me in open amusement. "Wanna play Battleship?"
Dane
We play four games. The tension melts away as Scout trash talks her way to three victories, doing a goofy dance each time she sinks one of my ships.
"You do know I'd kick your ass at Risk, right?" I ask, eyeing her over my glass of sweet tea.
She snorts, waves a dismissive hand. "You don't even have Risk. You can't beat me at a game you don't have."
I make a mental note to pick up the board game on my way home, and start packing away the little pieces. Scout yawns, stretching lithely. Her back arches, her hair swinging and hitting her ass as her breasts push against her thin tank top. She's so damn gorgeous, and so not mine. I stand up, shoving the rest of the game away and putting it back in the closet.
When I get back, Scout is still sitting on the floor, and she holds a hand out. Without thinking, I take it, pulling her off the floor and into my arms. Her body presses against mine in a long, sexy line, and I shiver, knowing she can feel my erection. I jerk away, cursing myself, and look at anything but her.
Beautiful Broken (University of Branton) Page 5
